All the King's Men
by bats-in-boots
Summary: Harry knew the summer after fifth year would be terrible. He'd been prepared to deal with it. This, however, he didn't expect. It has often been said that if something can go wrong, it will. Well… It did. "He pressed his hands against his arms and felt sick when he touched the cold, wet skin that couldn't be his own. This wasn't happening. This was all a nightmare, it had to be."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** All the King's Men

**Author:** bats-in-boots

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

A/N: I am not an expert on psychology, and I do no claim to be.

**Warnings:** Possible slash, (non)explicit violence, child abuse (implied and otherwise), and some swearing. Oh, I don't have a beta either, and I will not be attempting to use any British dialect. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to point them out. I might fix them.

Also, this chapter is rather short, but I assure you that any future chapters will be longer.

Chapter One

Harry entered the room carefully, stepping lightly and closing the door gently behind him. He glanced around the room and couldn't help the pang of guilt when he saw the empty shelves. Why hadn't the Headmaster fixed the objects? Was this some twisted attempt to guilt Harry into following whatever order, disguised as advice, he would surely receive during this meeting? Well, Harry thought, looking anywhere but the shelves, if that was the man's intention then he would no doubt succeed. He did his best to push those thoughts away and walked over to the only chair remaining, rolling his eyes when he noticed Malfoy lean away.

"Well then," Professor Dumbledore said as he leaned forward, the sparkle in his eyes suspiciously absent, "now that we are all here, I'm afraid that I have some bad news."

Harry, who had been doing his best to ignore the Headmaster, couldn't help but meet his eyes. He noted absently that the urge to kill was gone, but there was still so much hurt and anger remaining that he looked away just as quickly. He didn't want to deal with this now. For the first time since he'd entered Hogwarts, he was actually looking forward to going to stay with his relatives. After all, as long as nothing terrible happened and his uncle stayed relatively sober, he'd have at least a month of solitude to deal with the pain he'd refused to acknowledge since destroying most of the instruments in Dumbledore's office.

"What is it, Headmaster?" he finally forced himself to ask, once it was clear the man was looking for a response.

"I'm sorry to say this, my boy," Harry twisted his fingers together at the familiar title, "but the Dursleys were killed in a car crash yesterday." Any anger he may have felt vanished when the Headmaster told him the news. His relatives were dead. A rush of something like ice dripped across his skin, and his heartbeat seemed incredibly loud. Could everyone hear it? He turned to gaze out the window and did his best to ignore how quickly his breath was coming.

His heart was beating like a drum in his chest now, quick and light like a butterfly's wings. He pressed his hands against his arms and felt sick when he touched the cold, wet skin that couldn't be his own. This wasn't happening. This was all a nightmare, it had to be. The world swayed around him, and it was as if the floor was falling from beneath his feet. He looked up when he heard a voice over the waterfall of sound crashing over his ears.

"Potter," the voice said. It was cold and demanding, and the wall of glass that separated him from the rest of the world shattered, leaving him weary and tense.

"Yes, Professor?" he said, ignoring how his voice seemed to echo. Snape looked as if he was going to say something, but Malfoy cut him off before any questions could be asked.

"I don't understand, Headmaster," the boy said. "What does the state of Potter's relatives have to do with us?" Harry had to admit that it was a valid question, and as he did his best to fight through the dizzy mess his brain currently resembled, he found himself interested as well.

"Yes, I was getting to that part," the man said with a touch of amusement in his voice, though his gaze remained locked on Harry. "I'm afraid I must ask the two of you a favor." Harry had no idea what the man was implying, though he knew it must be obvious. With every word the man said, all Harry could hear was death. His relatives were dead. His last blood-relatives on the planet were dead.

"No." The sharp refusal managed to draw Harry's thoughts from their current path and he focused on the conversation once more. "I refuse to play host to Potter. I will not do it!" The headmaster looked incredibly disappointed at this, and Harry wondered if that had been the look on his face when he saw the destruction of his office. He had been so angry. Harry bit his tongue at that thought, using the physical pain to keep the emotional storm at bay.

"Now, Sev-" the man was cut off by Snape's hand slamming against the desk.

"No means no, Headmaster," the man all but growled. Harry felt the same way, but refrained from voicing his opinion. He knew that if his control slipped even the slightest bit, broken glass from shattered trinkets wouldn't be the only thing littering the floor. Hoping to distract himself from the downward spiral he knew his thoughts were headed towards, Harry turned to observe the boy sitting next to him.

Malfoy's face was covered in an angry flush. Harry couldn't even find a hint of pleasure at the boy's anger. All he could see was blood. He wondered absently if there had been blood on the street last night. Or perhaps it had glinted angrily as it stained the doors. Then again, Harry reminded himself, it could have been absorbed into their clothes, fading to a deep maroon as it merged with the fabric. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against them, trying desperately to rub away the tint of red that covered his vision.

Why was this happening?

"Severus," the Headmater's voice did little to distract him from the scene that played across his mind, but Harry forced himself to focus. He listened carefully, hearing and analyzing every shift in tone and doing his best to ignore the too bright colors that were assaulting his vision. "Please reconsider. Harry has nowhere else to go, you know this." Harry glared out the window at that, he knew that he was pretty much universally unwanted, but did Dumbledore really have to point it out when Malfoy was in the room?

His gaze drifted to the stars, and he was tempted to move closer to the pane of glass. He had always loved the night sky, but had rarely gotten a chance to truly appreciate it during his cupboard days. Even now it was hard to just lose himself in the constellations, as there was always something waiting to pull him back to earth. Not anymore, though, he reminded himself. Now he had nothing. He had to bite back a hysterical laugh at the thought. He really was alone, wasn't he? After all, if Dumbledore was to be believed, Snape was the last option he had.

Well, at least he wouldn't be alone with Snape over the summer, though the thought of Malfoy being there as well almost made it worse. Almost.

If Malfoy was there then it would just be easier to disappear. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better this was sounding. Snape hated him just enough to ignore him without making his life hell on earth, and with the blonde there to take up most of the man's time, he was pretty much guaranteed an entire summer of solitude. It sounded perfect really.

Then again, Harry thought as his focus was once more pulled to the conversation, he really should get over his habit of hoping for the best.

He knew he would only be disappointed in the end.

He might as well accept it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** All the King's Men

**Author:** bats-in-boots

Warnings and Disclaimer in chapter one.

Chapter Two

"I'm starting to think that you have the worst luck ever," Ron said as he relaxed against his trunk. Harry turned to stare at his friend, annoyance clear in his expression.

"Really, just now?" he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Ron grinned apologetically and continued to watch as Harry packed. Harry looked up from the mess that surrounded him and rolled his eyes as he threw a pair of socks at his friend, smirking as it hit the other boy in the face. "Hurry up," he said, "if you don't get started soon you'll never finish packing in time."

The redhead glared at Harry as he threw the socks into his own pile. He sighed when he realized Harry had turned away and resolved himself to the long, boring task of sorting through his belongings. "Why can't we just burn it all?" he asked as he held up an old assignment covered in smeared ink, only to let out a strangled shout when it burst into flames. He pulled his hand back from the burning parchment and turned to glare at his friend. "What was that for?"

Harry shrugged, doing his best to keep from laughing. "Maybe we _should_ just burn it all," he said as he caught the pillow Ron threw at him, "you'll never finish if we don't." Ron frowned at his nearly empty trunk. Harry was right. He glanced over at his friend, only to roll his eyes when he saw the other boy sitting cross-legged on the lid of his own.

"Why don't you help me then, if you're so quick?" he asked as he grabbed another book. Harry snickered as he leapt off his trunk.

"Only because you asked so nicely," he said, and with a flick of his wand the mess of supplies and clothes that littered the floor was packed neatly into Ron's trunk. The redhead gaped before narrowing his eyes and tuning to glare at him. "You couldn't have done that before?" he cried. Harry just shrugged.

"You didn't ask before." Ron shook his head and pushed past him to leave the dormitory. Harry grinned and followed.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and were soon ambushed by Hermione. She pulled them over to their regular spot near the fire before turning to Harry. "Alright," she said, tucking a brown curl behind her ear, "tell us what's going on." Harry sighed and leaned his head against the back of the couch. He did not want to do this. Ron sighed and answered for him.

"Harry's _relatives_," he spat out the word like it was acid on his tongue, "died a while ago." Hermione looked horrified when she heard the news.

"Oh Harry," she reached out and grabbed him into a quick hug before pulling back as if afraid of hurting him. "Are you okay?" Harry forced himself to smile reassuringly. Of course he wasn't okay. His relatives were dead. Just like everyone else. He shook the bitter thoughts from his head and grabbed her hand.

"I'm fine." He could tell she didn't believe him, but was thankful when she didn't press him for details. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if she did. "It's funny, really." He hurried to explain when Ron frowned. "They'd always told me that my parents had died in a car crash. It just fits I guess." He trailed off and fixed his stare on one of the paintings, fighting back the storm of emotions.

"That's horrible," Hermione finally said. Harry just smiled sadly.

"Yeah, it really is." He ran a hand through his hair and began to trace the vein in his arm. He wondered what they would do if his arm sliced open. Would they scream? Red washed over his vision and for just a moment, he was back in front of the veil. Horror and adrenalin rushed through him, and screams echoed through his mind. He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away. At that moment it was all he could do to keep from lashing out.

What was wrong with him?

He took a deep breath and looked down at his hand that was still clutched in Hermione's. He would get through this. "Sorry," he said when he finally managed to calm down.

"What was that?" Ron asked warily. Harry choked out a laugh and held Hermione's hand even tighter. He had no idea. Everything was so messed up.

"Well," Hermione said, breaking the oppressive silence, "what's going to happen now?" Harry stared blankly, and Ron was almost frightened when he saw the glazed look in his eyes. Then, as if a fog was cleared away, Harry remembered.

"You're not going to like this," he warned. Ron and Hermione leaned in and Harry made sure nobody was listening in before continuing. "I'm staying with Snape."

"What!" Ron was about to leap from his chair when Harry pulled him down sharply. They got a few curios glances, but most people were used to their antics by now to pay much attention. Hermione shushed him and Ron grinned sheepishly. "Right," he said as Harry shared a glance with Hermione, "no yelling. Got it." Harry let out a startled laugh and shook his head at his friend.

"I don't understand," Hermione said as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Why do you have to live with Snape? Not that he's a bad person," she paused when she saw the looks Harry and Ron were giving her. "Okay, he's a horrid choice, but there has to be a reason. Right?" Harry sighed and looked away.

"Of course there's a reason," he said as he glared into space. "There's always a reason." His voice was cold and his expression even worse. He remembered that night in the infirmary so many years ago. He'd asked why Voldemort had attacked, and Dumbledore had refused to answer. The truth was all he'd wanted, and the man had waited until his godfather had died to finally give it to him. He pulled his hand away from Hermione's and rested his chin against it. Why hadn't the man just told him the truth? Perhaps it had been some desperate attempt to allow him some shred of childhood innocence. He sneered at the thought, if he'd ever had any to begin with, then it had been killed with his parents.

"You could stay with us," Ron offered, drawing Harry's thoughts from their dark path. "Bill could help with the wards. Plus, we're much better company than that greasy git." Harry laughed as Ron continued. "I can't believe they're making you spend the summer alone with him!"

"Not alone, actually," Harry corrected, "Malfoy will be there too." Hermione looked faint, while Ron looked as if he wasn't sure how to react.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Hermione asked, her voice wavering. Harry just grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Don't look at me," he said. "If it had been my decision I'd be spending the summer with the Weasleys." Harry felt a twinge of guilt when he said this, for as much as he loved the Weasley family; he knew that he wouldn't get the peace he so desperately needed if he stayed with them. "Besides, I don't think there's enough time to set up the wards properly," he paused when he saw the strange look Hermione was giving him. "What?"

"How do you know about wards," she asked, not even bothering to hide her curiosity. Harry smiled sadly as he refrained from turning away.

"I read a lot during fourth year," he finally said. He chanced a quick glance at Ron, only to look away just as quickly when he saw the guilt on the boy's face. "Well," he said, doing his best to ignore the lingering awkwardness, "as I was saying. The wards would take more than a day to plan, and that's only for the most basic." Hermione nodded and picked up from where he'd left off.

"Then you'd actually need to start constructing the wards," she said.

"Well, yeah, but can't you just say the incantation and be done?" Ron interrupted. Hermione just sighed.

"You could, but they wouldn't last very long. If you want a permanent ward, like something strong enough to last more than a few days, then you'd need much more power and time." Harry grinned when the other boy rolled his eyes.

"Okay, but what about the fidelius charm?" Ron asked. "Headquarters is under it." Harry kicked at the leg of one of the tables and glared at the carpet.

"Yeah, so were my parents," he bit out before he could stop himself. Ron flushed, though he was unable to tell if it was embarrassment or something else, and Harry sighed. "Sorry, I just… I don't really want to stay at Grimmauld." Ron nodded and looked as if he was about to say something, but he snapped his mouth shut before he could. Harry just continued studying the floor, leaving Hermione to stare pensively between them.

"You'll keep in touch, right?" Hermione finally asked.

"Of course," Harry said, shocked that she'd even questioned it. "I mean, I won't be able to owl you, since we're supposed to be hiding, but I can probably give my letters to Dumbledore when he visits." Ron perked up at this.

"Promise me you'll prank that ferret at least once," he pleaded. "You have to tell us everything." Harry just laughed.

"I'll do my best."

~oOoOo~

Harry trailed behind the two Slytherins as they made their way down the path. Earlier that morning Harry had waved from the platform as his friends left on the train. It had been incredibly surreal to watch the scarlet engine leave without him.

It had hit him, then, that this was real. The Dursleys were actually dead. He would never again be chased down the crumbling sidewalks. He would never again find solace under the old oak tree near the park. His blood would never again stain the floorboards of his room. He was free.

The thought was bittersweet, in a way.

For as much as they had hated him, ten years of his life had been spent in that house. He knew every loose step and hidden corner. He knew every place where dust gathered, and he could navigate the entire house with his eyes closed.

He would never step foot in that place again.

Once they reached the gate, Professor Snape reached out to grab his arm, stopping them just outside the wards. He looked over at the man and frowned when he saw the pensive, calculating glance Snape was giving him. "The Headmaster has arranged a Portkey for us," he finally said as he pulled out a glass orb that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. "Once we reach our location the wards will cover us, and any magic that is done will be reported to both myself and Professor Dumbledore. Understood?" Harry nodded as he reached out to place a finger on the Portkey, bracing himself for the hellish ride he knew would follow.

He really hated Portkeys.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** All the King's Men

**Author:** bats-in-boots

I feel as if I should leave another warning as well. This story is not action-oriented. If you want an epic tale of adventure and ass-kicking, you will not find it here. This chapter is mostly filler and definitely not what I wanted it to be, but nothing else worked. So... I decided to settle for this.

**Once again, the general warnings and disclaimer are posted in the first chapter. **

Chapter Three

Harry watched the cast-iron gates creak open as the wards brushed against his magic. They settled like a blanket upon his shoulders, but not even the comforting presence could bring a smile to his face. He'd done his best to stay strong in front of his friends, though he knew they hadn't believed a second of it, but he could already feel the tendrils of weariness creeping through his mind.

He just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep.

And maybe, if he tried hard enough, he wouldn't have to wake up again. He could simply fall into the darkness that had been haunting him since the minute the scar had been etched across his forehead. He wouldn't have to worry anymore about saving a world that didn't even want him. He would close his eyes and stop.

He shook his head with a rueful grin, not quite berating himself for the dark thoughts, but knowing that it could never happen. No matter how much he wanted it, death would not come easily. It did occur to him that these thoughts were probably a bad sign, but he saw no way to stop them. Perhaps he was finally becoming as insane as the Prophet had claimed, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

He looked up when he felt a stare burning into his skin and did his best to push all of thoughts away as he met Snape's gaze. The man glared before turning away and stalking through the now open gates. Harry shook his head and followed with his head down. He was pretty sure he'd just been insulted in some way, but he was too busy thinking of nothing to be upset by the man's obvious disdain. All he wanted to do now was find somewhere to retreat into silence and try not to dream.

He watched Malfoy stride after the professor and sighed. It had been official since the moment his aunt's heart had stopped beating, but he couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as the gates shut behind him, there would be no going back. He didn't get this feeling often. It was almost as if the universe itself was holding its breath. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew that whatever happened here would change everything. Then the moment was ruined as he took a step forward.

He pushed all thoughts of destiny away from his mind and caught up to the Slytherins who'd paused almost halfway up the hill. Once upon a time, he might have tried to listen in on their conversation, but he saw no point now. Even if they were talking about him, and he wasn't arrogant enough to assume they were, there was really nothing they could do to him. Nothing besides kill him, of course, and at this point, he's not even sure that'd be a bad thing.

He frowned angrily and did his best to shake those thoughts away. He didn't understand why it was taking so long for him to get over this bout of teenage angst. It was starting to get ridiculous. He kicked at a stray rock and had to bite back a sigh. He hated this. He hated knowing that at any moment, something would remind him of, well, anything that had happened in the last month or so. At least he had a reason, he told himself. His relatives were dead, after all.

He expected another wave of panic to follow that thought, but all that he felt was a detached sort of interest. Why _should_ he care if they're dead? They'd hated him. He told himself that he was right to not care. Whenever he let himself care about something, it always seemed to end badly. He rubbed a hand across his wrist and was almost shocked at how cold his skin was. Almost.

It was strange, really, how impossible it seemed to care about anything.

He looked up when he heard the murmured conversation halt and made sure to put on a suitably sullen expression when Malfoy turned to glare at him. He didn't know why the boy was mad at him, it's not like he'd chosen to stay here. He can quite clearly remember looking forward to the quiet that his relatives would have provided. A part of him still wanted that, but it was impossible.

They were dead, and if he had the power to bring anyone back from the dead, he certainly wouldn't have wasted it on them. He remembered the almost insane glee that had played across his godfather's face, and caring once again became all too easy.

"Potter!" the annoyed tone of his professor broke through his twisting thoughts, and he took a deep breath when he feels his lungs began to burn. Interesting. He can't remember deciding not to breathe, but it did fall in line with recent events. He imagined the path before him slicked with blood, and somewhere in his mind, he could hear screaming. "Potter! Are you even listening to me?" the screaming was replaced with an annoyed voice, but all Harry could see was death and disappointment and blood.

"Yes," he finally managed to answer as the image faded and he was left staring up at the house. How he got there, he wasn't sure, as he was positive he had yet to reach the top, but here he was. He heard the professor snarl something under his breath and forced a grin. He was supposed to be acting normal, and so far, he'd been doing a horrible job. "I'm sorry, Sir, did you need something?" If the look on Malfoy's face was anything to go by, he'd been too polite, but there was nothing he could do to fix it now. Oh well, he could always do something extra stupid later to make up for it.

He'd always been good at doing stupid things.

"While here, you will do as I say. Any misbehavior will not be tolerated. Do you understand?" Harry almost answered, but thought better of it when the Snape continued. "I don't know how you got away with such horrible behavior at Hogwarts, but I can assure you, it will not work here." With that said, the man made his way up onto the porch and pushed the door open, obviously expecting them to enter. Harry was tempted to respond with some angry comment that would most assuredly get him in trouble, but he really didn't see a point in antagonizing the man before he'd even set foot inside.

He watched as Malfoy seemed to strut through the door, and had to stifle a snort as he followed. Honestly, what was the Slytherin trying to prove? He thought about tripping the other boy, but squashed the urge as quickly as if came. He was not going to screw this up. Not yet, at least.

The floorboards creaked softly as he entered, as if they were being pulled from a much needed rest, and Harry couldn't help but wince in sympathy. He knew the feeling. Then he realized he was attempting to empathize with the _floor_, and was worried for his mental health all over again.

The flashes of death he could deal with, he'd been getting them all year, after all, but this was not normal. Not even by his standards, and knowing him, that was saying something.

What the hell was wrong with him?

~oOoOo~

Harry stared blankly at the ceiling, caught up in a storm of confusion that would be invisible to anyone watching.

Snape had been surprisingly reasonable as he had described the rules, and had only singled Harry out four times during his lecture. Even then, he'd done nothing more than glare. He wasn't entirely sure why the man was holding back now, as he'd been perfectly willing to berate him in front of anyone back at Hogwarts, but he supposed he probably shouldn't complain.

After the speech, the man had gone to work on some potion with Malfoy tagging along, and although Harry had been somewhat interested, he'd chosen not to follow. Instead, he'd explored the old house and been almost disappointed at how normal it was. There were no secret passages or hidden doors, and not a single portrait moved. If it wasn't for the ambient magic that seemed to fill every corner, Harry would have assumed this house belonged to a muggle.

Eventually, however, his exploration had come to an end, and he'd been forced to choose a room. Needless to say, he'd chosen the room as far away from the Slytherins as possible.

And now here he was.

Alone again.

The thought was almost enough to drive him to tears, but in the end, he was too tired to cry.

So he did nothing but breathe as he waited for sleep to come.

oOoOo

_He sees it coming, but all he can do is watch the scene play out before him. He wants to change it. He should change it, but he can't. _

_The cars collide and he hears bones snap, though it should be impossible as the metal rips from its frame. The family is screaming now, and even as he covers his ears and begs someone to stop the tragedy that's already happened, it's all he hears. _

_Then he sees the blood. It flows from the mess of bodies and twisted metal, pooling into a snake twined through a skull as it seeps into the pavement. He moves closer and cries out, though he makes no sound, when he sees blonde hair burst into a fiery red, and short black hair grows into a tangled mess not unlike his own. _

_He knows what's happening now. _

_He tries to run, but the blood he's standing in clings to him. It feels as if there are hands clawing at his skin, and he knows what he will see if he looks down._

_He looks and is not surprised._

_There is a body curled around his legs._

_With every touch, it leaves handprints that burn into his flesh. He tries to kick away, but the creature, for there is no way he can call it human with its sunken eyes and rotten skin, holds tight._

"_Why are you running, Harry?" I'm not, he wants to say, though he is paralyzed by blood that continues to pull him down into this monster's embrace. "You did this. You deserve this." He tries to scream, but can't make a sound, and no air comes to his lungs. He's going to die here._

"_Please," he manages to rasp through the stale death that clogs his throat. _

"_You did this, Harry." _

_Then the creature fades into nothing, and he's left with the bodies of his parents. The blood stains his hands, and he is alone._

"_You lose." _


End file.
